


Soullight

by RiddleRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas likes to look at dean's soul, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sam is asleep and shit goes down, Wingfic, because Dean's soul is shiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:05:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddleRose/pseuds/RiddleRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean have a moment while Sam snoozes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soullight

No one has ever loved Castiel quite the way Dean does. The angels in his garrison were fond of him, and nothing quite trumps the feeling of his Father’s benevolence, but there’s something different about Dean. Angels love on a huge timescale. They exist for thousands and thousands of years. Their love is deep and abiding. It feels sometimes like a calm ocean; deep, unfathomable, unknowable, distant, and all-consuming. It is not exactly safe to be loved by an angel. 

Castiel has interacted with humans before, and occasionally earned their gratitude. Their prayers of thanks are filled with warmth and goodwill, but it’s not love, exactly. Not the way his brothers and sisters in the garrison love each other. Love in Heaven is so wide and deep that it becomes distant. It’s a background hum, put aside for the more immediate problems of politics and prayer. When your life is measured in eons and your loved ones rarely, if ever die, emotion can afford to take a backseat.

Dean isn’t like that. He is human, and he loves as a human, short and intense. His lifespan is a blip on Castiel’s radar. He will be gone faster than the flick of a feather on an archangel’s wing. Consequently he feels things more strongly than an angel. Every emotion comes with a sense of urgency. Love for Dean is almost synonymous with death.

Dean is different from most humans however, in that he and his brother have managed to stir up Heaven and Hell. Hell has always moved a little faster than Heaven, because most demons were once human, but now that Sam and Dean have entered the picture Heaven has been forced into a human pace. Castiel finds the urgency of mortality clogging his throat every time he speaks, feels it drag on his wings when he moves from place to place. He feels the burning pinpricks of tiny human souls winking out all over the world. He hears prayers like a great clamor in his ears. When a baby is born near him in a hospital one day he feels its fresh soul like a brand. He flees.

It is almost too much for him, the great rush of life. Dean keeps him anchored. Dean with his soul glowing so brightly that Castiel can’t help but look. It leaks out from behind his eyes, goes diamond-bright as he wraps his fingers around the hilt of a knife, and makes his whole body glow while he sleeps. Castiel has never seen a human soul so expressive. He thinks maybe it is because he has held Dean’s soul between his wings, nurtured him back to life, coaxed the soul back into its proper vessel, and soothed it throughout nightmares. Perhaps he simply sees Dean differently because he is familiar.

Once, in a lull between fights, while Sam sleeps on the other bed, Castiel asks Dean, “Do you remember when I raised you?”

Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at him sidelong, “Why d’you ask?”

“Your soul remembers me,” says Castiel.

Dean looks up at that, away from the gun he was cleaning. There is a pause while Dean’s eyes go far away and his soul curls outward to brush against Castiel’s wings. “I remember,” he says at last, his eyes back in the present.

Castiel nods. He knows Dean cannot see his wings, but he uncurls one and stretches it to wrap securely around his shoulders. Dean is still looking at him. He asks, “Do you... see it? All the time? Doesn’t it, I don’t know, stay somewhere out of the way?”

Castiel blinks, “It shines. It… reaches out to me. Another angel might not see it the same way, I don’t know. I see it most in your eyes.”

Dean snorts a little at that. Castiel frowns, “I am not joking Dean.”

“I know, it’s just uh. Normally when someone tells me I have great eyes I can expect to get laid later.” He grins again, “But I get it, eyes are a window to the soul, right? Makes sense.”

Castiel nods, and keeps his wing outstretched. Dean’s soul has sent tendrils of warmth curling through the feathers. He brushes the ends of two primaries over Dean’s hands, wishing he could feel it. Dean is still looking at him, and it occurs to Castiel that this may be tacit permission for him to look into Dean’s eyes. 

The moment is heavy and quiet. Castiel can see the heat rising from Dean’s body, hear his heart pumping blood through every vein and capillary. He can feel the brush of flannel against his wing, and the steady glow of soullight against it. Neither of them move.

Then Castiel feels a prayer. It is unmistakably Dean. It is small and uncertain, fluttering around his head before sinking to nestle under his left ear. He can’t hear what it says, but he can feel it like a spot of fire against his neck. “Dean?” he wonders out loud, “Are you… praying to me?”

Dean flushes and mutters, “Shut up, I’ve never done this before. Did you get it?”

Castiel cocks his head to the side a little, “Not quite. I can feel it,” he raises a hand to touch his neck, “right there, but it’s too shy to hear.”

Dean’s ears are pink. He licks his lips, then closes his eyes and bows his head. Castiel misses his gaze at once. Then Dean’s prayer rolls over him.

It feels like a storm of fire. Castiel gasps and opens his wings reflexively to throw them around Dean. His vessel rocks a little with the force of it, his eyes fly wide open and he stares at Dean as the prayer pounds _love love love love love love_ against his ears. He reaches out a hand and Dean catches it. “Cas,” he says, a little hoarse, “ _I remember_ , okay?” He grins a little, “And I can see your wings. Just so you know.” He reaches out a hand and runs it carefully down the edge of one, and Castiel trembles. 

Nothing in Heaven is anything like Dean’s love. They stay in the cocoon of Castiel’s wings for most of the night, even as Dean sleeps and his soul slips fiery kisses through the soft downy feathers. Castiel watches over him as he always does, one wing pillowing Deans head and the other covering him like an extra blanket. Tomorrow they will go back to hunting, and Dean will look Castiel in the eyes to show him his soul, and Castiel will shield him from as much of the horror they face together as he can. Nothing in Heaven can compare to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @jenesaispourquoi (mutuisanimis) again, although more peripherally this time. Look! MAYBE THIS ONE WON'T MAKE YOU CRY. I own nothing but my huge thing for wings. WINGS. I just really love wings, okay?


End file.
